


tears over spilt milk and the fucking inconsequential

by negligibleCatharsis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Drabble, Gen, Moirallegiance, Other, Sober Gamzee, Update spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negligibleCatharsis/pseuds/negligibleCatharsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His blood is under your nails, wet red crescents over dried green and blue and brown and purple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tears over spilt milk and the fucking inconsequential

It is so fucking funny, you think. It’s like a motherfucking carnival, you think, and even as that thought floats up through the black, bubbling muck in your thinkpan (the muck that gurgles like a sinner getting his throat slit, like a fucking sinner bleeding out through that motherfucking SCRATCH), you feel a jolt of hatred in your gut. But it’s too funny for the hate to last, and you laugh so hard you make yourself sick.

goddamn, you think, your moirail’s fucking bawling, and there’s the mustardblood, spilling his shit condiments all over the ground-roof. like a diner the owner done up and quit, you howl, and someone gives you a glare. It prickles on your skin, itching like a grub’s crawling up your arm, so you squash it.

Plip, plip, plip, blood drips onto the floor from its mangled body, until you remember that the grub wasn’t real and that you’ve dug your claws straight into your palms. The pain radiates and ripples like the water when you stuck your hands into the sea while waiting for your old motherfucking goat to come the motherfuck back. It washes up your arms, over your chest and head, until you’re drowning in it, and you laugh to the messiahs (you and motherfucking YOU) as you dig your nails in deeper.

god damn, you whisper, GOD DAMN. Terezi, sweet fucking Terezi glares at you again, so you glare right back. Maybe you’ll speak to her, comfort her, confront her, but no, Karkat motherfucking Vantas is wrapping himself around you, burying his dirty fucking face in your chest, and you cackle as you wrap your own arms around him and squeeze. His tears soak through the flimsy fabric of your t-shirt, and it sticks to your skin. You dig your nails into his back, wiping your bloody hands on his shirt as you rake up and down. He just sobs harder and presses himself further into you, and you pity this motherfucker so pale it grabs at your bloodpusher and rips. You shriek mid-laugh, and Karkat jumps away, his face a nasty goddamn mess of red tears and snot, mustard-grape-jelly blood, smeared ear to fucking ear.

oh, motherfuckin’ best friend, you purr, motherfuckin’ moirail, bring your ass back here, BRING YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SELF BACK TO MOTHERFUCKING ME.

And he does.

His blood is under your nails, wet red crescents over dried green and blue and brown and purple. The pure black hate from Pyrope oozes over you, numbing your thoughts like sopor, making you hum and buzz like the condiment’s bitchtits bees. If Karkat notices, he doesn’t care, and lets himself lean into your nails so they go through his skin and you can feel that candy-apple-shit blood well out and kiss your fingers.

go ahead, BROTHER LOVELY, go ahead and crucify yourself on me, and he whispers hoarsely back, Shut up, asshole.

So you do.

The crackling of the sun behind you _is_ you, and it sings back the black in your veins and the pity in your claws as the light of your mercy washes over these pathetic motherfucking survivors and the wasted mustard.

You laugh.


End file.
